Let It Be
by throughthemist
Summary: From the time he was born, James Potter was different. He was special. He was better. But how did he realize his true potential and grow to be all he could be? Follow him in this story of love and friendship.


**I do not own this, it is not mine to write but I write it anyway. Shoot me. Read, enjoy, and review.**

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As long as I can remember, my mother has told me that I'm special; important. And, as I learned to do with many other things as well, I believed her. I had no reason not to—my parents had done everything in their power to see that I was near perfect in every way. I had been cultivated for perfection from an early age, from careful education to careful breeding.

My mother had given birth to me when she was forty-seven, and though even older now, my high-society mother had once been a beauty queen and would never lose her beauty, and her youthful exotic beauty had long since been replaced by a striking elegance. The many portraits of her adorning our walls showed her young and preening, with smooth ivory skin; flowing black hair; a slim, pointed nose; and large, pale blue eyes. The skin was still ivory and smooth, though wrinkles could be barely seen upon very close inspection. The hair, still long and flowing, was beginning to turn the silver of the stars in the night's sky. The nose and eyes still retained their originality, though in her age gave her an air of aristocracy and wisdom.

My father was nearing sixty years old when I was born, and even now his hair was as impeccable as my mother's. He still had a full head of hair—neither of us was destined to be of the unfortunate ones sporting baldness—and it was still as black as it had ever been, though it was beginning to silver at the temples. He bore the same hazel eyes his own mother possessed (I had never met any of my grandparents—they were long dead by the time I was born, but I'd talked to their portraits on occasion.) His nose had a slightly squashed, though not unpleasing, look that I knew to have come from a Quidditch injury back in his own days at Hogwarts. His large, healthy frame was a nice contrast to my mother's slight one.

With their combined looks, I and others I met knew that I was destined to be part of the more attractive side of the population. I had the same thick black hair as my parents, and although it tended to be unruly, its failure to lie flat was in no means unattractive, and I knew that I would enjoy thick hair into my old age. I had inherited my father's eyes (though my mother had hoped for me to inherit her's) and also his less than wonderful eyesight; nevertheless, my parents assured me that glasses would place an air of intellect about me that no one would be able to penetrate. My slender body never bothered me either—my father had not begun to grow much until his mid-teens, I knew that I would do the same, and so a short height at a pre-pubescent age was not a problem I deemed worthy of my concern.

You may ask why my parents gave birth to me so late in life. They were certainly married long enough—they had twenty years under their belt by the time I was born. They had plenty of money—their net worth was estimated to be among the highest in Britain's Wizarding community. The truth was, my mother suffered seven miscarriages, two stillborns, and two children who died before they reached the ripe age of one. I have always suspected that my parents paid considerable sums of money and employed the help of much magic in order to conceive me, but they have never offered up information and I have never asked.

My father is well-respected in the Wizarding community, and many years ago he ran for Minister of Magic. He was doing well, until the second of his surviving children died. Dead infants do not do prospective ministers well, and reactions of the public influenced my father to drop out of the running. His prestige was not all gone, and he enjoyed a cozy Ministry job as the Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation.

You may ask why I tell you all of this. Well, it is my parent's goal—my goal—_our _goal that I will one day accomplish what my father did not and become the Minister of Magic. Since I was young, we have worked to ensure that this goal is most definitely a possibility for me. Obviously, the first step to my success is etiquette—the manners and actions that a high-setting, upper-class, pureblood boy needed to maintain appearances. None of this was a problem. I have attended so many dance classes, manner classes, Ministry banquets that this could all be done in my sleep.

The second step is intelligence, the prestige and grades it brings when mixed with fine education. When I turned eight, my mother and her most trusted House-Elf began teaching me the art of magic, and spells that many of my future classmates would not learn until their later years at Hogwarts. Although this may have been illegal, the families of Ministry officials are warranted small loophole.

The last of these steps that I will bore you with is power. It had to be sought out, and I was to surround myself with those who possessed it and those who could bring it to me. Because power commands respect, and respect was what was going to bring me into office as Minister of Magic one day.

And so at the age of eleven, when I started at Hogwarts, I was guaranteed to be above and beyond the rest of the first years. I could perform spells without flaw at the drop of a hat that many wizards could not even perform when fully grown. I could enter a crowded room and bring it to silence, all for me. I could charm even the coldest and twirl them around my little finger like I did my hair when it grew too long. I was better than everyone else, and I knew it.

I'm sure that by now, you have enough grasp of my personality, or else you know someone quite like me, to know that my conceit may have had the power to destroy the years of hard work my parents had put into me. Or at least, it might have, if I was not quite as special as I was.

Soon into my first year, I chose as my best friend Sirius Black, the oldest of the youngest generation of the family that opposed my own so much. This proved to be excusable, however; as questionable as this Slytherin-heavy family was to my parents, they held so much power in the Wizarding community that my parents were able to overlook Sirius's parents. I'm sure they also were tickled at the fact that the Black heir strayed from the 'true' path and was sorted into Gryffindor and befriended James Potter, the house and heir of the Black's enemies.

Sirius was as privileged, charming, smart, and good-looking as I, and together we built up a close circle of others in our own year, and also our own band of followers. And although we both maintained excellent grades, our minds were more attuned to our greatest passion—pranks. If either of us had been less smart or charming, we would have been kicked out of Hogwarts by our third year. But we were as smart and charming as they came, and our actions built up respect and established us as popular.

The school loved us—older, younger, teachers, they were ours and that was how we liked it. It was exactly like my parents had wanted for me, though I won't deny that I enjoyed the attention of nearly every female in the school. I liked women, and I knew how they worked. My reputation became that of both a prankster, Quidditch star, and ladies man as I grew up older.

My parents were disappointed that I did not earn the title of prefect in my fifth year, but they could not complain as I had some of the highest grades in my year, and I was also one of the youngest Quidditch captains in the history of my school. And the beloved title had gone to Remus Lupin, one of my best friends, and there was no one I loved more than my friends.

Sirius, Remus, and I, as well as another boy called Peter Pettigrew, became the Marauder's in our fourth year. It was never officially put into words, but I know for a fact that we became them when I came into possession of an Invisibility Cloak, a family heirloom that I received for my fourteenth Christmas. The next step of our title was the formation of the Marauder's Map—an invention that I am rather proud of. It was a map, complete with passwords, that showed everywhere in Hogwarts, as well as secret passages and the people. Although I will admit this to no one else (so don't tell), I am not responsible for the discovery of all of these passageways. When I entered Hogwarts, my mother sent with me my House Elf, Stippy, and he was responsible for telling me the passwords. But as no one knows that, it is neither here nor there. The final step of our Marauderdom, for lack of a better word, was a feat so great that no one outside of our circle knows of it. Remus Lupin, sweet Remus Lupin, who never did anyone wrong, was a werewolf, and had been one since the age of six. In our fifth year, Sirius, Peter, and I finally mastered the art of Animagi, and have since been able to accompany and tame Remus during his monthly issues.

And so I invite you into my story. It began years ago, before I was born, but that is not for any of us to know. For you, and for me, it begins the second I step foot through the barrier separating the normal world from the world of Hogwarts. I don't yet know what will happen, but I have my hopes. Here's to the future, may it be as satisfying as my past.

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**Review--what do you think? I'd like to know.**

**theworldisround**


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